


i await a guardian

by Kerryl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bonding, Desi Potter Family (Harry Potter), Everyone Helps Each Other, Magical Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-23 23:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19711459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerryl/pseuds/Kerryl
Summary: The Lupins and the Potters have always protected each other. Whether they realize it or not.





	i await a guardian

_Hogwarts, 1919_

"OI, FLEAMONT."

The eleven-year-old winces.  


"FLEAmont," repeats the ringleader of the gaggle advancing towards him. "What sort of rubbish name is that, eh?" His cronies snigger.

"It's my gran's maiden name," Fleamont Potter replies as composedly as he can. "She wanted her family legacy to live on."

"You named after your gran, then?"

"Yes."

"Oho! Hear that, lads? Ickle Fleamont's not even got a bloke's name!" This is greeted by jeers. "Named after his _gran_ , not even English-" the ringleader straightens his blue tie, casts a derogatory look at Fleamont's dark skin and messy black hair, and grins rather evilly. "I say we teach him a lesson."

"No, don't-" Fleamont starts, but he's cut off by a gleefully shouted " _Anteoculatia!_ " and starts to feel - are those _antlers?_ \- growing out of his head.

The bullies are laughing. Fleamont has had enough. He draws out his wand.

" _Petrificus Totalus._ "

One of the bullies topples over. The laughter dies down very quickly. The ringleader's voice is soft when he says, "Oh, you'll pay for that, Potter," and raises his wand-

-which immediately flies out of his hand, whizzes past Fleamont's new antlers, and into the hand of a prefect who's just rounded the corner.

"Are you quite sure about that, Travers?" she asks pleasantly. "Because," she twitches Travers' wand in the air, "I rather think not."

Travers swears, so foully that Fleamont's eyes widen. "Stay out of this, Lupin."

"Don't think I will. Let me see now, twenty points from Ravenclaw for bullying-"

"You can't-"

"-and five for language." The prefect smiles. "Slink back to your tower, Travers, don't pick on children again. And the rest of you? Ten more points from Ravenclaw. Get some better friends." She tosses the confiscated wand back at the ringleader.

Muttering balefully, Travers and his followers leave.

Fleamont's saviour strides forward to face him. "Hello. I'm Callisto. Would you like some help with the antlers?" She casts a glance over them. "I'm afraid I can't remove them entirely, it's more a job for Madam Gould, but I can make them a little less heavy."

"Thanks," Fleamont says. "Not- not just for that, but those boys-"

"Oh, you're most welcome. They're...quite horrid people. I'll tell Professor Dippet-"

"I don't want to make a fuss-"

"They ought to be punished, mate," Callisto says softly, pausing in her careful wand-waving around his antlers. "We can't let people graduate Hogwarts being such awful people. I won't bring you into it, I won't even tell them your- what is your name?"

"Fleamont."

Callisto whistles. "Unusual name."

"My gran's maiden name." He sighs. "That's what started all that. That and the fact that I...I look different."

"No," Callisto says, firmly. "What started all that was a group of bullies deciding to hex you for no reason."

"You think so?"

"Yeah. Although, I've got to tell you something, Fleamont, and you must try to remember this, yeah?" She waits for him to nod. "There are, unfortunately, always going to be some horrid people trying to make things hard for other people. You've just got to learn to stand up against it. What house're you in?"

"Gryffindor."

"Ah, I'm a Hufflepuff myself, but Gryffindor- that's the house of bravery and chivalry, mate. The way you handled those tossers just now, even though they're older and there were more of them, that was brave. It's going to be hard, but you might have to keep being brave. Help yourself. Help others. Yeah?"

Fleamont nods. "Yeah. Like you."

"Thanks, mate, I do my best." She drops her hands and Fleamont notices that the antlers do feel much lighter. "Would you like me to come with you to the Hospital Wing?"

"Could you?"

"'Course." They set off for the Hospital Wing in companionable silence.

"Fleamont," Callisto says after a bit, thoughtfully, "I think I've got an idea for if you run into some bullies again."

"Really? What is it?"

Callisto grins. "You ever hear of the Bat-Bogey Hex?"

_Ministry of Magic, 1941_

"What is the meaning of this?" Henry Potter's voice is soft and deadly. The underling leading the woman in handcuffs looks mildly intimidated, but rallies.

"Sir, she has been arrested for breaking the Statue of International Secrecy."

"Has she." Henry looks at the woman. She looks back, quiet but chin raised in defiance. He estimates she is in her late thirties. Not much older than his son. "And how, exactly, madam, did you allegedly break the Statute of Secrecy?"

"I took in some Muggle children, sir. They were evacuated from London to the countryside. My town included." She sets her jaw. "They may be safe from the Muggles fighting England, but staying in a wizarding household they may be in danger from Grindelwald as well. One of the children saw me warding the house."

 _Merlin._ What had the world come to, that a woman trying to protect children was arrested?

"Has the child's memory been removed?" Henry asks the underling. He receives a nod. "Who is watching the children now?"

"Conor. My brother. He- he'll keep them safe."

Henry nods at the underling. "Halsen, let her go." The underling gapes. "I'm dismissing the charges. The child's memory has been altered, the wizarding world remains secluded from our non-magical countrymen, the law is intact."

"Sir, you-you can't-" Halsen stutters.

"I am the head of Magical Law Enforcement, am I not? There's a war on, Halsen, two wars, in fact. Let's not bother the Wizengamot with such simple matters as these. Release her."

Halsen undoes the handcuffs and leaves at the look of clear dismissal Henry levels at him. The woman eyes him with an unreadable look.

"Thank you, sir."

Henry waves a hand. "It's quite a trivial matter for me, but I would imagine it makes quite a world of difference to you and those children you're minding. What's your name?"

"Callisto. Lupin."

Henry stares. "Callisto Lupin. Were you, by any chance, a prefect in Hufflepuff, oh, perhaps twenty years ago?" At her startled look, he smiles. "My name's Henry Potter. I'm told you rescued my son Fleamont from some bullies and helped him with some defensive spells."

Callisto brightens. "You're Fleamont's father? That child was brilliant. I taught him the Bat-Bogey Hex. _That_ took Travers by surprise the next time he tried to harass Fleamont. Complex hex, mastered it by twelve, and now a potions pioneer and true businessman. You must be proud."

"I am," Henry says, smiling. "I'm sure he'd love to hear from you. I believe you left a great impression on my son, Ms. Lupin. He unfailingly tries to stand up for those in need, and he once said he partially credits you for that. I think you helped him much more than you realized, and for that, I must thank you. It's...it's quite lovely to meet you in person, and to see that you still help those who need it."

Callisto manages a watery smile, feeling somehow simultaneously thirty-eight and sixteen again. "Well, Mr. Potter, I...I do my best."

_Moutohora, 1958_

"Mate, I've got to say, I _cannot_ wait for next World Cup, where we don't have to leave the Isles. Bring on the rain and fog, I say." Deichtine Rowan scowls at the Portkey area they're walking toward.

"Not a fan of New Zealand, Deich?" Lyall Lupin asks, grinning.

"I'm a true Celt, Lyall," she says seriously. "Deichtine, Princess of Ulster, all that."

"So touched the Princess of Ulster condescends to secure the Quidditch World Cup with lowly Minister wizards such as ourselves," comes a new voice, all amused sarcasm, and Lyall and Deichtine whip around. It's their supervisor, Dorea Potter.

"I-I was just-"

"Oh, no, I agree. I don't much care for New Zealand either. I'd much rather it be back in England. Or India. Charlie has some family there, they're lovely people. And the food they make when we visit is just-" Dorea sighs almost dreamily. Lyall grins at Deichtine, as if to say, _buck up, mate, she's all right, not going to shout at you_.

"Rowan, you're rather jumpy," Dorea observes. "Don't worry, child, I've seen your work. You may be new but you already get along with Lupin-"

"Chief, don't make me sound so antisocial!"

"-and you've got a rather brilliant record. The Department's lucky to have you. Good thing we got rid of this one's cousin."

"Cousin Conan was so good at paperwork, though, Chief," Lyall says cheekily.

"Good at paperwork, yes. Useless in the field, no skill at handling magical creatures," Dorea sighs. "We had to get him transferred to a desk job. Got Rowan here instead, and now two of the best of my department are out here with me. Security for the World Cup indeed. They said Muggles are anyway restricted from the island- and nobody lives here, at any rate. Why'd we end up here, again?"

"Lottery picked Ministry officials for security detail, Chief," Deichtine says.

"Rubbish of them," Dorea mutters. She freezes, taking a deep breath. "You two smell that?"

Deichtine pales. "Smoke."

Lyall looks around for the source and points to a patch of grass just over the hill. It's glowing. It's also right next to the Portkey area, which is expecting the first few batches in just a few minutes.

"Not a good sign," mutters Dorea, and draws out her wand to advance towards the fire. Deichtine and Lyall follow.

The heat from the fire hits them full blast, and it is clear that there are multiple wriggling creatures, perhaps fifty of them, scrambling around in the fire. One of them launches itself almost onto Lyall's face before a quick spell from Dorea shunts it aside.

"Salamander fire," she says grimly. "Blue ones. And down here they're much more aggressive." She yanks Lyall back from where he's crouching over the fire. "Lupin, you idiot, don't go _near_ it-"

Deichtine conjures flames from her wand, and the salamanders follow. "Heat-seeking, yes?" she calls. "Chief, you can extinguish the fire."

Dorea loses no time in starting the work to extinguish the fire, but more salamanders scurry out. Lyall has already joined Deichtine- beasts are not his specialty, spirits are, but conjuring flames he can do. It takes only a few minutes- the Chief manages to put out the fire and the salamanders start dying. Lyall drops his guard a little too soon. Two particularly aggressive salamanders scurry up his trouser legs, nearly burning through the material. He shrieks in pain.

Dorea slashes her wand viciously through the air, and something knocks the salamanders off of Lyall. She shoots a jet of water, drenching him completely. He gasps in relief.

"Thanks, Chief," he manages, shaking drops out of his wet hair.

"You're welcome. I know you're a spirits expert, Lupin, but do learn how to handle some beasts, will you?"

"In his defense, Chief, fire salamanders aren't normally this bad," Deichtine points out, having gotten rid of her salamanders.

"Ugh, I know. Bloody New Zealand. The wildlife in the Antipodes is _mad_." Dorea tucks her wand back into her bun and cracks her knuckles. "Well? Come along, now, the Portkeys'll be arriving any minute."

"Hope it's a Boggart next time, Chief," Deichtine says cheerfully, as they stroll back towards the Portkey arrivals area. "Lupin'll take care of it."

"Don't let's _hope_ for a next time, Rowan," Dorea mutters balefully. "At least not for the Cup."

_Diagon Alley, 1964_

James is, he informs his parents, having Fun.

"Can you spell that for me, chinnu?" Dad asks, smiling.

"F...U...N," James says carefully. He is just learning how to read and he's quite proud of it.

Mum and Dad beam at him and pat his head.

They're out shopping in Dy-gon-ally (" _Diagon Alley_ , dear, careful while you're saying it,") and it is an absolutely lovely day, blue skies and cheery sun just like in his picture books. There are so _many_ shops here, and lots of people, and lots of chattering.

"James," Mum says, drawing his attention. "Let's go into the bookshop, Dad and I have some things we need to buy, and then we can go get ice-cream. Would you like to look at the picture books?" James thinks this is a splendid idea, and tells her so. Mum laughs and tugs him along into the bookshop. She waits till he sits down on a little stool in the picture book section, tells him she and Dad are just going into other sections and will be back in a few minutes, and leaves him to happily browse the shelves.

James wipes his hands on his dungarees to make sure they're not sticky, and then runs his fingers over the spines of the books. Several of them look familiar - he has them at home, many of them birthday presents. He feels rather important and knowledgeable at this realization, but quickly gets bored with the fairly small selection. He kicks his legs on the stool, slouching, and looks around. Through the shop window he can see out into the street, and at other shops. There's an owlery, a potion-ingredient store that Dad loves ("But Euphemia, I do need more Gomas Barbadensis, and I've heard they have a bottle of _Acromantula venom_ , I really-" " _No_ , Fleamont, you can go to the apothecary _after_ we have ice-cream."), a robe shop, a sweets shop, and-  


James sits up.

That's a broom shop.

Completely forgetting that his parents will be back in some time and he can just _ask_ them to take him, James stands up and leaves the bookshop. He has every intention of purposefully striding across the street, into the broomstick shop, and grandly ask to see accessories for his Mum's old Cleansweep that he'll get to use when he gets a little taller and outgrows his training broom. He contemplates the likelihood of whoever is behind the shop counter cooing at him, regretfully concedes it is high, and then concludes it will be worth it. Distracted by these musings, James forgets two crucial things: 1) it is a Sunday afternoon, so Diagon Alley is very crowded, and 2) at the age of four, James only really reaches most adults' waists and thus, when caught in a crowd, _cannot see_.

He gets swept up by the crush of people. Overwhelmed, James attempts to fight through, but gets thoroughly confused about directions. By the time he escapes the mad crowd, he sprints for an empty corner without even looking where he's going, and stops to catch his breath. He looks around.

Nothing seems familiar.

In fact, it's very different from the cheer and bustle of Diagon Alley. This street is bleak and shadowed, with only a few people on the street, all cloaked despite the relatively warm weather. James knows he is definitely not meant to be here- normally he would investigate out of curiosity, but something about this place is just a little bit frightening. He wants to go back to Mum and Dad and get ice-cream and look at broomsticks. He turns to find a way out.

But towering before him is a banshee.

He's never seen one before, only heard of them in fairytales when Dad took him to Ireland for a week, but the stories were terrifying and haunted his nightmares.

The banshee glides a step forward. James screams.

Out of one of the darkened shops, a man in flapping robes darts out and runs down the street, pulling out his wand and aiming it at the banshee.

" _Riddikulus!_ "

The banshee turns into a woman in a black dress, wearing badly applied makeup, and then dissolves into smoke and into a clicky box (a snuffbox, Mum's aunt had one in her sitting room) the robed man is holding out. James stares, wide-eyed, as the man tosses the box to one of the cloaked people watching and asks them to "return it to Borgin, please, and tell him to take better care of his merchandise." This being accomplished, the man turns back to James and crouches down to be at eye level. He has pale skin and warm brown eyes.

"Hallo there," he says quietly to James. "I'm Lyall. Are you lost?" James nods. "You trying to get back to Diagon Alley, I suppose? Would you like me to show you the way?"

James nods. This Mr. Lyall seems nice. "Yes, please," he manages, his voice very low. "My parents were at the bookshop."

Mr. Lyall stands up. "Flourish and Blotts, most likely. Here we go. It's rather confusing, I do understand." He takes James back to the bookshop. Mum and Dad are standing outside, frantically calling his name.

"James? James! James!" He runs towards them. "Oh, James, we were so worried! What happened?"

Mr. Lyall walks up. "He got lost, took a wrong turn and ended up in Knockturn Alley. I saw a Boggart going near him and I helped him out a bit."

"A _Boggart_?" Mum whispers.

"Sir, we can't thank you enough," Dad tells Mr. Lyall. "We were so worried."

"Oh, it was no problem at all, Mr...?"

"Potter."

"Really? I had a supervisor named Potter. My name's Lupin," Mr. Lyall says. "I'm glad I could help- Boggarts are a bit of a specialty of mine, you see. I have a little boy myself, he's about four. I completely understand how it feels."

"I'm four too!" James pipes up, pressed against Mum's side. "Maybe I'll meet your son at Hogwarts!"

Mr. Lupin smiles. "Maybe you will."

_Hogwarts, 1975_

Remus walks into the dorm room, takes one look inside, and yells.

“BLOODY HELL!”

A stag, dog, and rat look back at him.

“Merlin, what-” What does one do when faced with three animals in one’s dorm room? There is a _stag_ on his _bed_ , for crying out loud.

“What is the point of Care of Magical Creatures when it doesn’t teach you what to do when faced with woodland animals?” mutters Remus.

The dog starts barking, a strange sound that’s almost like laughter. The stag joins in, making odd wheezing noises, and Remus has never been more confused in his life.  
The stag throws his forelegs over his body, still “laughing”, and in doing so, falls off Remus’ bed. When he hits the floor, he’s…James Potter.

“James?”

“Sorry, mate,” James says, wincing. “Still working on controlling the transformation.”

“The transfor-” Remus’ eyes widen. “Oh…”

Behind James, the dog and rat transform into Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew respectively. Sirius sweeps his hair back and grins at a stunned Remus.

“You achieved your Animagus transformations,” whispers Remus in shock and awe.

“I should say we did,” says James proudly, sitting up. “And about bloody time too.”

“Full moon’s next week,” Sirius cuts in. “We’re ready.”

"A-are you sure?"

"Remus, did you not just see us in our Animagus forms?" Peter says. "We didn't want to show you until we were certain."

"Look, will we get better at this? Yes, obviously. But we've managed to control _when_ we transform." James stands up and puts a hand on Remus' shoulder. "D'you think we'd have done this on a lark?"

"We made the Map on a lark," Sirius pipes up, but he is silenced when Peter snatches up a pillow and chucks it at his face.

"We're ready," James says earnestly, ignoring the pillow fight that is imminent behind him. "We want to help. Please let us."

They start explaining how they plan to help him, interrupting each other and breaking into irrelevant arguments all the while and Remus smiles, overcome, at these three friends who’ve pulled off advanced magic, underage, illegally, all for _him…_

But dark mist wraps over their faces and the room goes cold, and Remus feels the image twisting away from him, swirling into the pale full moon. The familiar pain is back, and he can sense the fur growing on his hands, the cold creeping over his eyelids...

_Hogwarts Express, 1993_

...and he opens his eyes to a darkened train compartment, a Dementor gliding in, and James sitting across from him with a boy and a girl he can’t quite place, all three scrambling away from the creatures of darkness trying to suck away their souls.

Remus draws his wand, reaches for the memory from his dream, and a silver wolf bursts from his wand to chase away the Dementors.

He looks over at the three children opposite him. The ginger boy - _Merlin_ , is that one of Molly and Arthur's children? - and the bushy-haired girl are bending worriedly over their unconscious friend, with his messy black hair and familiar face. It can’t be James. James has been dead for twelve years. It’s just that this boy looks so much like James, and the last time Remus saw this boy, he was a baby and Remus was sneaking him chocolate, and it was the last time he saw James, twelve years ago.

But that was then and this is now. Remus is on the train to Hogwarts again, as a professor, and stirring on the seat opposite him is a boy who by all rights should call him _Uncle Moony_ but war and life are unfair and he will only know Remus as a teacher. It's alright though, Remus can live with that, because this is a boy whose parents were Remus' friends, but more importantly he and his friends are _children_ in need of protection, and Remus will bloody well protect them in these uncertain times...

 _…hello again, Harry,_ he thinks, and stands up to offer his almost-godson some chocolate.

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as me wondering how Remus felt waking up to Dementors looming over his long-lost pseudo-godson. Now, uh, *gestures at fic*.
> 
> I've taken some serious liberties with the previous generations, especially the Lupins- very little is known about Lyall's background, so I made it up. And I absolutely ran with the "wolf wolf" shtick - every name I gave to a member of the Lupin family is related to wolves.


End file.
